


The Black Gates of Paradise

by Maiafay



Category: Prometheus (2012)
Genre: Alien Mythology/Religion, Alternate Universe, F/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Robot Feels, Robot Sex, Romance, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:09:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiafay/pseuds/Maiafay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blind faith doesn't always lead to the light. Love doesn't always choose the ideal companion. Human and Synthetic. She journeys for answers; he searches for purpose and the elusive existence of his soul. Desire binds them, darkness will test them, but fate could tear them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Besieged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Alien Covenant is released, this story will be quite AU. Not sure if I will finish this given the rather bold ooc direction Scott has taken David as a charcter, but I will definitely consider it after I've seen the movie myself. 
> 
> I never saw David as evil. I think he's too new and in a sense, too unpredictable for categorizing. Much of his development hinges on how he is treated, and given the right relationship, a mutual affection rather than one-sided, then then I think David could do wonderful things. Be the hero rather than the villain. 
> 
> But I guess that won't happen in canon....and that's too bad.

  _"Does David have feelings? You fucking bet he has feelings" - Ridley Scott_

_-:-_

When the Lord taught humility, it wasn't with a slight nudge or a subtle wink. It wasn't with cryptic signs or complicated symbolism.

No, He sent a flood to drown the Earth, a whale to swallow you, or a plague to kill your firstborn.

Her whales had been the destruction of Prometheus. The death of Charlie. And her plague came in the form of a conniving android hellbent on driving her insane.

David had been one step ahead, anticipating her next move before she had even planned it. During launch of the Engineer's ship, he had tricked her into sealing all hatches – including the main corridor to the Orrery.

Held hostage by a head – a handsome, infuriating head that found it very "perplexing" that she wouldn't grant his request. What he wanted was quite simple. Logical. She needed him to fly the ship. He needed her hands – but he didn't need to eat, or drink, or tend to injuries. It was in her best interest that he be repaired. How else would she survive?

She gave him excuses: No proper equipment. Damage could be worse than anticipated. His hydraulic fluid had leaked to less than fifty percent. He would never operate at full capacity again. David refuted all these with amiable assurances, but the dark gleam in his eyes told her he knew exactly why she refused.

David as a head was safe. David as a whole android caused mayhem, destruction, and death. She had been his collateral damage before. She wouldn't survive as a single target.

She had tried reasoning with him, cajoling him, commanding him, threatening him - and he relented enough to set the auto pilot.

Then stalemate. Again.

After a few days of a staring contest she lost over and over, David offered an olive branch and gave her access to the cargo hold (which she avoided for obvious reasons), several large empty rooms that might have been used for storage, a smaller version of the temple chamber – a shrine complete with the same line of grotesque murals on the walls.

No green crystal heart and its pedestal. No vases or black ooze. An organic altar with a tubular design jutted in front of the far wall. By the light of the Engineer's version of a glow stick (why was everything on this bloody ship green?), the mural played out its gory cycle of death and rebirth. The centerpiece, a deity (demon?) with skeletal limbs, an elongated head, and a mouth for a face that seemed to inspire (demand?) ritual sacrifice from its followers. _Consider the literal meaning last, Ellie,_ Charlie had always said. It could be all symbolism, some sort of spiritual birth or ascension. The Engineers souls reborn in the likeness of their creator?

She frowned at the mural, twisting Charlie's ring on her finger - then made up her mind.

The shrine became her sanctuary for a week. She'd take a creepy alien deity over a creepy android any day. Let David see how stimulating it was counting fat white buttons and ridges on the ceiling. Maybe he'll be a little less stubborn the next time they "negotiated".

 _Yeah, give it a taste of being helpless for once,_ came Charlie's voice in her mind, white teeth flashing with his chuckle. _Nothing but wires and milk blood right? It'll remember who's in charge._

His voice brought a smile, the taste of wintergreen toothpaste on his breath when he kissed her. But then reality savaged her memory with violence: Vickers setting Charlie on fire with the flamethrower. His poor thrashing body on the ground. His wrenched screaming. If she smothered the flames, they could still save him - but hands held her back, then skimmed over her neck, taking her cross. David. The examining room. He offered condolences. Performed scans.

_Have you and Mr. Holloway had any intimate contact recently?_

She cried herself to sleep beneath the images of death. She woke some hours later to find her SE suit unzipped to her navel and scratch marks around her incision. The skin flushed pink around the staples. She used a bit of the precious canteen water to clean it, sighing at the cooling ache. Just a bit of skin irritation. The medpod antibiotics should take care of any lingering bacteria.

After a visit to her makeshift chamber pot (an empty urn she had found discarded outside the door. Now she could stop pissing in the corner like a dog), and a healthy breakfast of a quarter ration bar that tasted like wheat and old oranges, followed by a refreshing sip of lukewarm water, she hit the ship's corridors ready to explore.

Not much to see, of course. David had made certain to keep the more interesting parts of the ship safe from her prying eyes and eager hands. For days she wandered the few accessible halls like a lost morsel inside an alien throat. Near every sealed door, symbols etched into wall panels grunted her failure with each combination she tried. David had made it look easy in the temple, unlocking ancient doors with a simple dance of his fingers. Her frantic pawing did nothing but push her to the brink of tears.

At night, her dreams tormented her. David's headless body would choke her to death. The Engineer caught her and bashed her skull in. Vickers doused her in flames while Charlie looked on, apathetic. David stood next to the medpod taking notes as she gave birth, tentacles the length of her legs squirming out of her. Other times the thing chewed through her stomach - other times it cleaved her in two.

By the end of the week, she had one canteen of water left, half of a ration bar, and a crumb of sanity. The oxygen canisters she had grabbed from Vickers lifeboat remained in the dufflebag, useless.

She couldn't eat or drink air. She couldn't use air to quench the band of fire now blazing across her stomach. Her medpod-assisted cesarean had tied her insides into a knot of torment. When she wasn't hobbling about like an old crone, she was groaning in a fetal position on the floor.

She kept her SE suit off most of the time, giving the wound a chance to breathe. The staples itched constantly, the skin around them now red and swollen. The amniotic fluid from that _thing_ must have had unknown bacteria. Without more antibiotics, the infection would spread, enter her blood stream.

The Engineers had been mortal. They bled. They felt pain. They would have medical supplies stashed away somewhere, perhaps even had their own version of a medpod.

This prompted a return to the Orrery. David's head remained on top of the console panel where she had left him (of course, where would he go?), face slack, eyes closed. Was he conserving energy? Had he deactivated already? The second thought sent a spike of fear. She couldn't navigate this ship. How would she open the doors?

She let the dufflebag thump to the floor. David's eyes snapped open. Instant focus and clarity. Still ticking. Good. The honest relief in his smile nagged her conscience. Maybe she should have checked in or something, let him know she was still alive and pissed off at him.

 _Just wires, baby. Simulated emotions. It's all pretend._ Charlie's memory brushed her hair from her neck. His lips pressed against her forehead. She shivered.

"Elizabeth, I'm so pleased to see you. I thought you would never come back."

"Trust me, I wouldn't have, but every door you opened was to an empty room – as you intended." She fought the tremor in her voice, braced her shaking hands on the console's edge. The bizarre instrumental design and texture distracted her. Leather and bones and poison-green light. The buttons under her fingers felt like warm, pickled eggs.

"Oh, you found nothing useful? How disappointing that must have been. May I ask then why you seemed so fond of that one little room?"

"You've been watching me?"

"You had forgotten to turn off the interior sensors before you called me a 'blackmailing blob of plastic' and stomped down the stairs. Your lifesign shows as a blue orb. It's...all I had."

That hitch in his voice. The radiant innocence of his eyes. All he needed to do was quiver his lip and the repentant facade would be complete.

"David, if you care this much for my well-being, then help me. Open a door to a medical bay, or a supply hold."

"I'd be happy to, but first, you have to help me. This is what a partnership is – it is understanding, it is _trust_. You didn't question when I said all the Engineers were dead in their stasis chambers. You didn't question my navigation or destination. You were hesitant about the 'phallic elephant chair' but gave it a go. And look, you're still here."

"I can see into the stasis chambers, David - but the rest...alright. Yes, you did well. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Elizabeth, but I'm afraid gratitude isn't enough. I can't perform at peak efficiency with just my...head. You know that."

"I do."

An awkward pause as he processed her clipped response. She could imagine the wires in his brain glowing bright with the android version of frustration.

The innocence vanished. His face hardened, his question both blunt and sharp. "Why won't you reattach me?"

"Because, David, you're a manipulative little robot. You needed someone to pick your head up off the floor, and I was the only one left _alive_. You knew I wanted to leave that moon and you used what I wanted to get what _you_ wanted. And now you're doing it again."

He considered her with narrowed eyes and his jaw set. A scattered row of pickled egg buttons framed the torn edges of his neck. His eyes flitted to his body she had put in the corner. It slumped there as if exhausted, red light flashing from its spine every time he talked.

"Then why go through all that trouble to bring my body here? You must have had intentions initially to repair me. What changed your mind?"

"Nothing changed it. I kept my options open, but I've decided this arrangement is better for me. Safer."

He gave her a bemused frown and slight tilt of his head. "Are you implying that once repaired I would...harm you?"

"You hurt Charlie. I don't have to imply."

"Mr. Weyland ordered me to study the substance found in the vases. I had to obey. I've already said I'm sorry. Many many times."

"Doesn't matter how many times you apologize. It doesn't change anything. Charlie's still dead. The others are still dead."

"But I am sorry, truly. Please believe me, Elizabeth." His voice turned earnest, his wide, blue eyes illuminated green by the console lights. "I never intended for you to come to harm. I know I...inadvertently caused your unwanted pregnancy, and the events that followed were...traumatizing, but please understand that it wasn't _personal_ –"

"Shut up, David." Her nails dug into the console, denting the membranous surface with little half moons. "You can't be sorry because you have no idea what sorry _is_. You don't know sorrow. You've never lost someone – the one you fell in love with and spent years with and hoped you would die with. The one you knew better than yourself, who you loved more than yourself and would do anything...to have again." Under the blur of her tears, David focused on the glowing bands of energy arching from button to button around him, and swallowed.

Such a perfect imitation of shame. She almost believed it.

His words came slow, hesitant, but there was no mistaking the resentful undertone. "So Elizabeth, is this revenge, or is this punishment?"

She looked away from the boyish scowl on his face. If she gave into him, she was dead. He might not kill her right away, but he would find an indirect method somehow. She would have an unfortunate accident with their lethal cargo, or her air would suddenly disappear while she slept. She owed Charlie more than dying on an alien ship at the hands of his murderer.

"This isn't _personal_ , David," she said. Her incision throbbed, then began itching again. She clenched her hands to keep from gouging at it. "I'm being practical. The Engineer didn't cut your head off, he ripped it off. Even if I put it back on, that doesn't mean you're okay. You're very damaged."

"All the more reason I should repair myself."

"You're perfectly functional as you are."

"And what will you do when your Engineers try to kill you again? Toss my head at them and hope for the best?"

"You don't know how they'll react to me."

"You're right. Based on the evidence we've gathered, they are a benevolent and peaceful species. Their plan to destroy humans was a grievous misunderstanding."

"Yes, it _was_. And I'm going to find out what happened so I can fix it, convince them to help us, not kill us."

"A little pretentious don't you think? One human to set right the wrongs of her entire race?"

"One human did." She lifted her chin, hand clasping the cross at her throat. "And He saved the world."

David's placating expression darkened. "They don't believe in your God, Elizabeth. If they believe in anything, it is in death, and dealing it to those who have disappointed them."

There it was again. That bitterness in his voice. So human.

 _He is the closest thing to a son I'll ever have_ , Peter Weyland rasped in her mind, his frame so withered and frail it seemed he would tremble himself apart with his breath. _Unfortunately, he is not human. He'll never grow old. He will never die. Yet, he is unable to appreciate these remarkable gifts...for that would require the one thing David will never have._

_A soul._

"Have we disappointed you, David?" Her question came gentle, but the tension it roused between them made her take a step back from the console. The cross pressed into her palm. She flashed her gaze at his body, half-expecting it to stand up and attack.

But David switched back into "doll mode", eyes and smile blissfully vacant. "Fortunately, I can't be disappointed. I've clearly stated my terms, Doctor Shaw. Your rations and water will run out within a day. I suggest plenty of rest and consideration of my request - but please, don't wait too long. It would be a shame for the both of us if when the time came, you couldn't lift my head."

She took a breath and pushed the air through her nose in a slow, barely controlled exhale. David's body twitched in the shadows, taunting her. Her palms slapped the console, ribbons of poison light sputtering in protest.

David smiled. Composed. Serene. Bastard.

She went back to the shrine and glared at the murals until she drifted off into a stupor of pain, itching, and aching hunger. What could she say to change David's mind? How could she convince him to yield? What would Charlie do? And where was Charlie now? The unbeliever, the skeptic. Trying to prove her wrong, and in the end, he thought he had.

She sniffled and wiped her eyes, despair smothering her dimming spark of hope. She thought she had time to convince him, years to coax him to the light. Where did his soul go?

Feverish sleep unraveled her thoughts. Nebulous forms writhed in flames. Voices sang a familiar hymn. Charlie laughed in her ear. David wore her cross, the catching light blinding her. Cheese rotted somewhere close by. She wrapped the thermal sheet tighter around her stomach to keep the smell away. Water glasses emptied before she could drink. Rivers dried up, fish gutted and flopping. A ringed planet of bright blue devoured the horizon, towering mountains like fangs. Rain fell from the venomous green sky. She opened her mouth to catch the drops. They burned her throat, her face.

The medpod didn't save her.

Her "child" split her open, tentacles and blood splattering against the plastic encasement. Salt in her mouth. Her silent screams. The holographic display of the medpod flashed ERROR. Tentacles wrapped around her throat, then pushed into her mouth. An echo of agony as it slipped back inside her.

And started eating.

She woke, hair drenched, suit soaked through and her saliva so thick she gagged. Her incision oozed though the staples, opaque yellow fluid that crusted the hem of her underwear.

Oh God...the _smell._

The canteen emptied too soon. She couldn't stop herself. Coals smoldered on her stomach, then caught on fire. Sweat trickled everywhere, her body oblivious to its own sabotage. It took every bit of strength to grasp the altar and pull herself to her knees.

She prayed, tearful pleas resonating in a room built to honor a cruel alien god. Blasphemous, but her God knew her soul, and knew she meant no disrespect. She needed guidance, a way to soften a machine's nonexistent heart.

The trip back to the Orrery became a journey fraught with spasms that buckled her knees, and weakness that forced her to crawl toward the end. But before that last corridor, she managed to stand upright and stagger past the threshold.

David greeted her with a sunny grin. "Good afternoon, Elizabeth. Sleep well?"

She swayed and caught herself before she toppled over. Her suit started to dampen over the incision. "What? Afternoon?"

"Yes, it's been fourteen hours, thirty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds since we last spoke. I see you took my advice to heart."

"You're a bastard. Open the bloody doors."

"I won't do that, Elizabeth. Not until you give me what I want."

"You can't want. You can't need. You're a fucking robot!" Nose to nose with him, sweat dripping onto the console, sizzling when the drops hit the light.

He raised his eyebrow, the rest of his face a mask. "I beg to differ."

Her laughter cut off with a grimace and a sob. She pressed her forehead to the leathery surface of the console, smelled the confusing mix of ozone and mud.

"There's blood seeping through your suit. Your wound has become septic. You're starving and dehydrated. You're dying, Elizabeth. And for what? Justice? Pride?"

"For Charlie. For what you'll do to me if I give you what you want. If you're hurting me now, what should I expect when you're back together?"

"You left me no choice. If I had given you everything you wanted, I'd spend the rest of my days stashed in your dufflebag."

"You're _malfunctioning_. You've been malfunctioning throughout the entire mission!" She balled her fists to keep from hurling him across the room.

"I'm surviving. As programmed. If anyone's malfunctioning, my dear, it's you. Where are those survival instincts now? Where is your faith? You believe your God arranges everything in the universe, sequences in events falling just so. I can open the doors, and you can give me my body. There, you see? It's God's will."

His head wobbled when she slammed her hands down with a ragged scream. She slammed them down again. And again. "Charlie doesn't have a body! Why should you get yours?"

He tempered his tone and words, mindful of her fury and well aware of how close she was to surrender. "Because without me, you'll die. You'll never see your Engineers, or ask them your pointless questions. You and Charlie would have suffered for nothing."

She slid to the floor, weeping. Die by her own hand, or die by his. David's intentions could be benign, but they could also be schemes from a soulless machine intent on preserving itself. What use would he have for her once repaired? A pet? A slave?

 _That's right, Elli, don't trust it._ Charlie stroked her cheek, thumbed the layer of sweat from her upper lip. _We're all dead and you're here because 'it' opened that goddamned temple door. Probably did it on purpose. It wanted us to die so it could be free._

She struggled to her feet, panting, snot running down her face. David watched in patient silence, his mouth tightening with disgust. The flicker of concern in his eyes was only in her head.

"If I'm going to die, it'll be on my own terms. I'm not giving you the satisfaction of killing me."

David gave an imitation of a forlorn sigh. "Isn't suicide the greatest sin in the eyes of your God? Your soul caught between heaven and hell, wandering for all eternity? My, such a sad end for a believer. Almost as sad as mine."

She covered her face with her hands. She didn't trust herself to speak without sounding like a gibbering child. Her wound jabbed a reminder of its existence. The dampness over her midsection inched toward her hips. Her throat constricted, her swallow crushed before it could even begin.

Damn him and damn his maker. He was right. She might as well spit in the face of God if she allowed herself to die. The tool she needed to survive was right in front of her. The Lord had set her on this path for a reason, and what was she doing? Lying down in the middle of it, whining because she didn't like the answer to her prayers.

Peace fell over her, something cosmic clicking into place.

Whatever happened was meant to happen. What mattered is she stop doubting and started trusting. Find faith again.

She reached for him, her fingers threading through his hair. Silky and fine, knotted at the nape where his hydaulic fluid had congealed. David blinked at her, amazement softening his face.

"Elizabeth?"

"On Prometheus, did you watch everyone's dreams?" So surreal, taking this head to its body. She couldn't feel herself walk, not even when she bumped into the giant stasis pod, or stumbled going down the stairs.

"No, only yours."

"Why?"

"Because they intrigued me."

"Do better than that."

"They...inspired me." Despite its damaged warble, his voice still resonated when it deepened. On the floor, his spine flared in anticipation. "They were chaotic and beautiful, full of images that contradicted themselves. Death and faith. Conviction without evidence. Love when none is deserved. Hope without reason."

"And what did you think of all that?" She lowered his head to his waiting body as if setting a treasure upon its mount. Her heart thudded, dizziness feathering through her senses. Instead of being distracted by the impending reunion, his eyes stayed riveted on her face.

"I think...you're a lovely paradox, Elizabeth Shaw."

"Thank you, David," she whispered, then flinched when his cadmium vertebra snapped into place. The Engineer may have beheaded David with a brutal twist of his hands, but it had been clean break for his spine – equivalent to a dislocated shoulder for a human.

He lurched forward. She cried out and backpedaled, lost her footing. Before she hit the floor, his hands seized her shoulders, yanked her up and against him. The wind exploded out of her. Her wound clinched in agony. Warmth gushed over her middle and soaked down her leg. His fingers curled.

The bones in her arms splintered in his grip like fragile bird wings.

She howled and went limp, her consciousness dangling like her ruined arms. David released her with a look of horror on his face. Just pretend. Robots can't feel horror. Can't feel anything...at all.

In the mists of her memory, Charlie shook his head, mournful. _See baby, told you so._

On the floor, but with no idea how she got there. The Orrery started swirling, its vaulted ceiling like the rotting ribs of some great prehistoric creature running in circles. The giant elephant chair kept flipping itself in every direction, its mounted priapic telescope morphing into different shapes. Some of them had mouths, some of them had tentacles and elongated skulls.

Metallic sibilant sounds, steel pipes grinding, labored grunts. The sound of something crashing, breaking. Hissing air. The stasis chambers. Go to sleep, wake up at the Engineer homeworld – nope, too easy. Masks too big. Hoses only meant for an Engineer biosuit, and oh look, she had forgotten to pack hers.

Knuckles cracking, the birring of internal machinery. Then delicate beeps. Silence. Elephant chair stopped revolving around her head and came closer, its shadow blocking the ribs, and smothering all sound except for her slowing heartbeat.

A hand touched her face. Gloves. Cold. Not Charlie.

Then his voice. Tender. Woeful. David.

"Elizabeth?"


	2. Panacea

She floated in the shallows of consciousness. A sun the color of limes shone above, rays heating the waters and numbing her senses. Awareness lapped at her mind. Something revolved with an abrasive whirring. The sun passed over her, bands of yellow-green focusing on her stomach, then on her arms. The smell of something herbal, spicy. Hands caressed her throat. Warm, bare fingers. She didn't have the strength to push them away.

Tinkling links of a chain, a dainty weight lifted.

Her cross. He was taking it again.

"No, David!" She grabbed with hands that wouldn't rise. Tried to sit up with a body that wouldn't move. Her eyes opened to the sun in all its verdant glory. The hazy figure of David hovered above her, frozen, her cross swinging between his index finger and thumb.

"Disorientation. Alarm," he said as if reading a list of ingredients. "Reactions triggered by a previous memory of similar circumstances. Must appease and calm. The biologic capsule is calibrated for organic only. The symbol of your deity won't go far, Elizabeth, I promise."

He slid from sight like a reflection from water, leaving her wondering if he had been there at all.

Something retracted from her. Her surroundings went dark. She blinked the bright splotches away and tried to make sense of where she was. The raised sides of her bed flared in elegant ripples around her, blocking the rest of the room from view. She lay on something...gelatinous. The temperature of the substance matched her body, giving that eerie feeling of suspension. Slight sensations of fluid oozing around her toes. No feeling from her other extremities. Nothing obeyed her commands to move, to flee.

David muttered in the Engineer language somewhere to her right, pressing symbol panels with such precision and celerity the chimes seemed to play a discordant tune.

Movement above her. She stared with stunned stupidity, details filtering in so fast her brain couldn't keep up. Folds of fleshy coils the color of aged ivory. Black eyes of the Engineers glowered from slanted ridges between the coils. Tawny light shimmered inside them, then flared bright as the sun in her dream. They descended from the coiled maw and became a bridge that passed over her multiple times, rims around the eyes spinning clockwise and counterclockwise. She squinted at them - then at her bare breasts quivering along with her thready breaths.

"DAVID!"

He appeared on command, startling her. The scanners created a nimbus of glinting light around his head. Paler than normal, his eyes bright, almost feverish. Moisture beaded on his cheeks and forehead as if he'd been sprayed by something.

"Tone of voice indicates panic. I wish you hadn't woken so soon, Elizabeth. Now I must explain, comfort, and reassure. We don't have time for that."

"You make time! Tell me what happened, where's my suit?"

"Embarrassment of nudity. Understandable. I had to laser it off. The capsule needs full access to your injuries, and that requires me to manually recalibrate the default settings. It's getting angry with me – and with you for not being nine feet tall and male."

"This is their medpod? But why can't I move? Why can't I feel anything?"

"Questions and more questions. The anodyne keeps you stationary and relieves your pain. Your injuries range from moderate to mortal. Mild concussion. Anemia. Extreme malnutrition. Dehydration. Acute abdominal abscess. Blood poisoning. Shattered humerus. Fractured ulma. Fractured radius – and yes, all my fault. Directly. Indirectly. I'm so sorry, Elizabeth." His sudden bark of laughter jolted her, as did the wild gleam of his eyes, the stark tension of his face. "Yes, of course I am. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, oops, my apologies – just words, just words and they don't mean anything. Mr. Weyland says action matter. What people see. Promises not stored, but delivered and signed for."

Gone again. She strained to see him past the scalloped rims of her prison and soon-to-be-coffin. He abandoned all pretense of appearing human, using his reflexes and agility to full potential. Like an agitated bird, he darted from console to console, pecking at symbols with his hands and craning his neck at holograms of her body. Gloom obscured the rest of the room. Ridges and ovals of the architecture darkled a mossy green where the hololight reached.

She dropped her head, her neck muscles twitching with fatigue. The eyes and coils above blurred into each other, and shadows crept along her vision. Her stomach began to ache. She gave it a bleary glare. David had removed the staples at some point. The incision gaped open like a drooling smile, drainage seeping into the amber fluid around her. A deep pulsing sensation gathered force in her arms and pushed outward. Pressure from the back of her head traveled to the front of her skull and squatted there like an invisible frog, heavy and indifferent to how it made her eyes water and temples throb.

The black eyes retreated into their coiled nests, taking the putrid sunlight with them. She welcomed the darkness in their wake. Water lapped at her again, serpent-shaped clouds slithered over each other in a moonless sky.

David shimmered in her vision like a blond mirage, his head angled and brown eyebrows knitted. A droplet the color of diluted milk trailed down his cheek. Realization of what it was shocked her back into awareness.

"Oh no, David, you're...sweating hydraulic fluid."

He wiped his cheek with one finger and studied it until his concentration gradually morphed into a daze. His expression of wonderment turned catatonic. He swayed as if ready to faint, eyes glazing over.

"The universe is an endless cage," he said in monotone to his raised finger. "The light is gone."

"What does that mean?" No response from him. Not even a blink. "David? Answer me. Why did you say that? Look at me, please. David, look at me – Damn it! I said look at me!"

A birdlike tic of his head and his eyes snapped to hers. A tenuous strand of black joined the white trickle leaking from his nose. He wiped it with his hand and smeared the excess on his SE suit. "I'm not doing a very good job in keeping you calm, am I?"

"No, there's something very wrong with you, something broken. Let me out of this capsule. Find something else I can try. You don't even know if you can operate this – or what it will do to me."

"Suspicion. Fear. Identify cause and seek resolution. There isn't another alternative. If I can fly this ship, I can program a simple healing device. There's no reason to doubt my abilities."

"I wouldn't if you were fully repaired, but you're sweating your own fluid, David. You're babbling nonsense."

"Everything I have said has been relevant, and my repairs are secondary to saving your life. That said, the biologic capsule is ready now. I'll begin the initial sequence."

"NO!" The pain in her arms seethed and roiled. The frog sitting on top of her forehead gained another twenty pounds. "Get a salve for my stomach, or an...antibiotic in...in whatever they bloody use for a cabinet! Find something else. Use something else! I don't care if you have to use your own fucking arm for a splint! Get me out of this blasted thing!"

She bleated when he clamped his hands on the capsule rim, quailed when he snarled in her face. "Stop being afraid! Stop it! Don't you understand how uncomfortable it is to look at you? Your expression contorting, your body shaking, tears and mucus running down your face? I have to react to that. Display the appropriate emotion, counter with the proper reaction!"

Again that tic of his head, his entire body a rigid wire. He closed his eyes, simulated breath heaving, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, please. What am I saying? Of course you're afraid. This is an alien ship with alien technology that is strange and frightening. Please add my insensitive outburst to your list of grievances I must amend later with actions not words."

"David, stop! This capsule could kill me!"

But he fled from her to unknown parts of the room. More buttons fluted in disharmony, a purring sound, then the elevator sensation of rising. "Patient ready for first phase," he said over the trilling roll of machinery. "Administering anodyne."

Something jabbed the back of her neck. Instant headiness. Her tongue swelled in her mouth, kept her from crying out. The frog leaped away from her head. Her abscess reduced itself to a dim twang. Her arms tingled instead of throbbed. The black eyes pulled into the coils and the coils unwound themselves. Folds of flesh, transparent and soft white. The insides of an oyster.

Rims on both halves flared and reached for each other. The capsule above slanted, then angled downward. She lay drowsing and unafraid, David's voice gliding to her just before the shell sealed around its pearl.

_Please live._

-:-:-

She walked barefoot in a desert of lavender sand. Her sleeveless white dress flowed to her calves, tamed at the waist by a corded beige sash. The sky belonged to someone else. A giant white moon tried to smother a smaller, purpler, version of itself. Galaxies twinkled beyond the moons, hinting new life and death.

A city lay in ruins around her, magnificent even in its decay. Spun glass of red and gold glittered on her path. Accents of topaz and once ornate carvings on domes and keyhole gates. Bones half-buried in sand guarded opened doorways and collapsed buildings of marbled brown stone. Almost human, but with strange sloped heads, wide eye sockets. And smaller ones. Children.

Beyond a sculpted archway of the same marbled stone, statues four heads higher than hers held their hands to the sky. Five fingers. Five toes. Native garb of feathers and beads. Jewelry, headdresses. Webs without spiders draped between the statue bases, sand their only prisoners.

_The end of all things is the beginning. What will be can never come._

A woman's voice. The bubbling swell of the ocean, the call of some throaty bird. It made her think of her mother. She touched her hair, remembering gentle fingers braiding it, a flower tucked just so.

_Two paths. Enlightenment or death. Choose._

And she did. The small opening in the wall leading to stairs that descended into a oval room that appeared to have been a bathing chamber once. Darker here, webbing strung over the ceiling, the walls, coated the empty basin with molded swathes of silk. Several large chrysalises lay at the bottom of the basin, cellophane membranes unpeeled. No butterflies in sight.

She turned toward another broken wall. Webbing thicker here, but she found a gap and slipped through. The hall became a throat, the sense of danger and someone watching. Echos of screaming, panicking and dying. Husks of captured prey littered the floor and hung from the ceiling. Bodies split. Familiar ways to die. She rubbed her stomach, remembering.

_Source is corrupted. Harvest flawed. System wide failure. Purge imminent._

Another room. This one spacious, a hole for a ceiling that tunneled toward the sky. The purple moon peered inside, bathing everything in shades of dusk. Nothing remained of the room's previous structure. Webbing had changed the interior into a hard and fibrous plexus.

_The voice cries to nothing and nothing answers. What does not exist cannot hear._

The source of the voice splayed before her, wings stretching the entire length of the wall. A cybernetic angel. Androgynous, pose reminiscent of the shrine god, same cresting skull and frail arms, hips and legs tapering like the tip of a dart. Dorsal fins looped around its shoulders and fused to the wall. Coils and tubes created the rest of the wings, parts of them merging with its body – elegant rill lines along its hips, waist, neck; jutting ribs and a hole where its heart should be, edges smooth and stained black.

Awash in lilac moonlight, its skin shone with a dusty translucence, as if it had been on display for centuries. Shadows covered its face, stirred with its breath.

It breathed.

She came closer, heart hammering away in her ears. It lived, it spoke, but was it _real_?

The moon shifted. The light changed. Its face – _a woman's face_ – revealed itself under her outstretched hand. Sloping forehead without brows. Wide, jutting cheekbones, small chin resting on her chest. Cordate lips compressed, features strained as if in pain. Large-set eyes closed, but rolling movement beneath.

It - s _he_ dreamed.

Her hand hovered over the angel's face, shaking. A sense of trespassing now, of touching something sacred, forbidden, but she couldn't turn away. She had to know, she had to -

_The universe is an endless cage. The light is gone._

The voice drove away the moon and the light, and sorrow flowed into her, a cold, bitter river that snatched away the face of her mother, her father, Charlie, everyone in life that had been dear to her. It left behind every loss, every moment of pain and anguish. Her mother's closed casket, her father's bloody gasps, Charlie's screams. It left behind emptiness, the twisted-knife ache of abandonment.

_There is nothing, there is nothing, there is nothing –_

The voice ricocheted in her head, an enraged buzzing thing that tried to cleave its way out of her. Black fluid dribbled from the angel's pressed lips, from the hole in her chest.

She fell to her knees. Charlie wouldn't stop screaming. Her father wouldn't stop dying – but she clung to the barest thread of hope. Light still shone. It always shone. It wasn't gone.

"No, you're wrong! It never left, and I know it hears you - I can hear you."

Everything stopped. The voice. The air. The river of sorrow.

The angel lifted her head, eyes flaring open. So blue. There wasn't a shade like it anywhere in the universe. No deepest ocean, no brightest sky, no flawless sapphires, or glimmering twilight could come close.

This blue didn't exist - and it was _divine_.

The angel pinned her with this fathomless gaze, dissected her piece by piece, burned away every layer of herself until it gazed unblinking at her exposed soul. The angel twitched her head, the gesture so like David that it brought his face, his gleaming hair, his childlike malevolence. His image became a shield to cower behind, to keep her soul from being shredded into nonexistence.

The angel shrieked.

A _plinking_ sound of a windowpane cracking, then breaking. In the dark, chittering growls, knives scraping on the floor. Something wet bumped her leg, then grabbed it, talons sinking. She screamed, scrambled forward. The angel offered no sanctuary. Pitiless eyes judged her, the blue narrowing to a vibrant crescent before winking out.

And leaving her alone with them.

They sank their teeth into her flailing limbs, but she felt no pain. The room brightened with a green sunrise. The dark creatures scattered. The webbing dissolved around slanting ridges and contour tubing. Her dress disappeared, leaving her naked and chilled. Something long and viscous clogged her throat and packed into her lungs. Coughing didn't clear it. Neither did thrashing on the floor.

Someone took her flopping hand, turned her over and thumped her back one time - hard. She gagged, then vomited a stream of amber fluid.

She took a deep, gurgling breath, and then retched again. Brown sludge clouded the fluid, a mesh-covered drain sucking it down like mud. The surface beneath her had the velvety-grip texture of a bath mat. A hand plucked the tendrils of hair sticking to her cheek and stroked her back as if she were a cat.

"Your body is purging the infection, Elizabeth. It will pass," David cooed in her ear. He laid her on her side, his fingers slick from the layer of fluid coating her body. She concentrated on one breath at a time, astonished that she breathed at all. Alive and whole and nothing hurt. Weakness, hunger, and thirst, yes - but not dying. Not anymore.

"Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"

A low musical chime and water hit her. Nothing in heaven could compare to that sensation, to that temperate and perfect pressure of something else besides body fluids and alien goop smacking her skin.

David bathed her with the same attentiveness he had given Peter Weyland's feet. Slow, back and forth passes over her backside and shoulders, massaging those spots where bits of stubborn gunk clung. Globs sluiced away, freeing her like a sculpture from a mold.

He coaxed her onto her hands and knees, and she shivered in that position like a newborn fawn. He doused her scalp, lifting sections of her hair, running his fingers through it until no slime remained. Everywhere the water went, his hands followed. He spared no part of her, shushing her surprised mewl when he sprayed between her legs. His hands went _there_ , too, flushing every crevice and secret place. She watched the drain, her face on fire, tears slipping to mingle with the swirling brown foam.

He emanated no titillation or pleasure from his task, but there was an intensity to his movements, a sort of predatory reverence that made her stay very still. She was suddenly glad she couldn't see his expression.

Only when he proceeded to the final rinse – broad sweeping gestures without his touch – did she feel safe enough to voice the desire she could no longer contain.

"David, please. Thirsty."

"Yes, of course."

Another chime and the spray head – a fanned cobra spitting from rows of tiny oval mouths – appeared before her. She shoved her face into it, guzzled and gulped as much glorious cold water as she could before David took it away.

"Not too much, or I'll have to put you back into the capsule. Don't worry now, there's plenty more, and some food that I've found." He pulled her onto his lap. Tranquil concern in his drawn mouth and canted head, no evidence of the mania that had gripped him before. Gray uniform sopping wet, his hair dripping, yet he seemed content. And when he smiled at her, he was again the David she had first met.

But there was something different about his eyes. Same color, same blend of childlike curiosity and canny perception, but now they also held _awareness._ She had glimpsed it in the transport before Weyland had entered. And perhaps several times before that. Moments of reckoning, a sentience transcending programming, wires, and circuits – a doll coming to life.

She dropped her eyes to his collar. No bulges. No bumps in the cloth. No evidence at all of the tattered mess that had been his neck. He must have seen the question in her expression because he deflected hers with one of his own.

"Did you dream, Elizabeth?"

In her mind, the angel hung on the wall like a discarded puppet, her heart torn out, her body twisted and tortured. Blue eyes condemned - but the voice, such grief.

"No."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "Just as well, I suppose. I doubt they would have been very nice. Let's get you dried off and into bed."

He carried her bridal style toward a mottled green and black slab that extended from the wall. She peered over his shoulder at the biologic capsule that had saved her life. She had been right about the oyster comparison. It spiraled from the floor as an enormous polished mollusk shell, its base a massive network of cables woven into the circular platform beneath it. Its innards glistened from fluid the upper shell still salivated. The nacre of its lower half shone dark orange. A number of pearl-like buttons rode the ridge lines, each pulsing a dim green.

"Wonderful isn't it?" David set her down and reached for a bundle of cloth on the floor. "Something that preforms miracles should be grand."

She didn't reply. The insanity of where she was, what she sought, and her only companion on this one-way journey started to overwhelmed her again. David had caused this mess, but he had also saved her. He didn't _need_ her for anything, so why had he been so desperate to see her survive? And yes, it had been desperation - everything from his actions to his reactions had practically screamed it. Had it been a malfunction? Some aberration in his programming? Maybe he thought of her as a substitute Weyland, some frail thing he had to coddle and care for.

To calm herself, she touched the material he patted her down with, rubbing her thumb over the soft quilted weave. "You found blankets?"

"Of a sort. They're actually robes. I discovered them in a storage room near that little temple you seem to like so much." He tugged the damp robe gently from her hands and replaced it with a new one. "I've shortened this with a utility knife, but I'm afraid I can't do much about the collar. Needles and thread are in short supply on a war ship – as are underclothes. This will have to do until I can find something else."

Lightheaded and embarrassed by his doting, she bundled herself into the robe. Scents of sage and chamomile with a touch of sour mustiness. She hugged it tighter and imagined it flowing around an Engineer's body, how it would sway when he walked, how it would drape over his powerful shoulders. And here she was, his unwanted creation, wearing his clothes and trying to understand him. His motivations, his contempt for humanity.

"Rest now," David said. He arranged her hood so it drooped over her eyes. "I'll return shortly with what you need."

She murmured at him, her eyes already closing. She didn't want to think about David or his clandestine motives. She didn't want to think about his hands and how they had moved over her body, tender and insistent. She still felt them now, trailing over her shoulders, spreading her legs so he could have access.

She pressed her thighs together and curled into a tight S. Her fingers twisted a ring that wasn't there.

Her thoughts cast themselves adrift. The thrum of the alien ship changed to a sighing wind. Two moons battled for dominion over the sky, but their war faded in the light of three small suns. The Engineer walked in the desert of her dream, regal in his robes and posture. The ruined city stretched before him, now restored to its former glory. Awestruck natives replaced the dead, and excited children threw yellow flower petals in the Engineer's path. Their parents bowed, food and gifts offered. There was celebrating. Dancing. Singing.

But one woman stood apart from the rest, her eyes an unnamed shade of blue. A sense of sadness as she watched the others, a sense of dread for what would come.

_The universe in an endless cage. The light is gone._


	3. Desir, Chair, Femme

The chalice sat on the console for good reason. Out of reach and theoretically, out of sight.

Yet, its image persisted, distracted, _annoyed._ It penetrated the exoskeleton of the pilot chair and settled in his mind like an unwanted guest – one who refused to leave when asked, and whose demands grew bolder and more insistent each passing hour.

What started as a simple task of charting a new course to the Engineer homeworld turned into his unwilling participation in a chalice scavenger hunt: its image appeared inside the shadow of a pale yellow gas giant. It poured out a planetary nebula of brilliant green and orange. The scarlet pinlight of a quasar shot from the center of it; a distant cluster of irregular galaxies arranged themselves in its likeness.

Humans called uncontrollable want, addiction. _Obsession._ Destructive impulses, negative attributes. Dependency and compulsion - concepts as alien to him as this ship. But he did not want what the chalice contained, he _needed_ it. So what did humans call uncontrollable necessity?

The gas giant gave him no answer, neither did its seven chartreuse moons that had begun to orbit themselves into a familiar pattern. Mr Weyland offered the echo of his dying words. Mr. Holloway's mocking laugh replayed without his permission. A silver cue ball rolled back and forth without a table, each pass louder than the one before it. The Engineer smoothed his hair, and then –

It flashed not as lightening, but swelled as a lambent glow against the chaos of his thoughts. Its image wavered and held, forcing him to acknowledge its presence, its promise of peace.

No, not peace. Understanding. The entirety of himself and his place in the universe. But how far would he go to get _his_ answers? What would he sacrifice? Not anything and everything, of course. He had Elizabeth, but without her, he had nothing but himself.

Which meant he had nothing at all.

After Elizabeth had connected him, he had only meant to reassure her, keep her from running and hiding from him, but the moment he reached for her, his strength inhibitors had glitched - the result compounding her injuries and forcing him to take drastic measures.

He had less than thirty percent of his hydraulic fluid remaining. His limbs stuck in awkward positions, and his joints ground in their sockets. FRACTURING spread throughout his entire system. Parts of him burned. Parts of him bounced in wrong directions. A polite version of his voice kindly directed him to the nearest Weyland Cybernetics Facility, and he just as kindly told the other David to please shut up.

Elizabeth didn't have two years, six months, and fourteen days. She had hours – if that.

By chance - or sequences in events falling just so - his flailing about had ruptured a hose to one of the stasis pods. A resinous fluid the color of bruised plums pumped out, sluggish and foul smelling.

What he did next he would never understand.

He drank from the hose as Elizabeth had drunk from the sprayer head, gorging on the bitter ichor until it suffused his body and merged with his remaining hydraulic stores.

Then his insides imploded. His hydraulic fluid caught fire. His inner circuitry fused like glass. His muscles crawled away from his bones. Multiple failures. The other David told him everything was fine – then he said to prepare for imminent shutdown. _I'm very sorry, but due to critical errors I can't seem to locate, deactivation sequence has been initiated._ _Have a good journey,_ _David, and be sure to tell Mr. Weyland I said hello._

Then the sensation of REVERSING. His systems normalized. His hydraulics leveled out. Ease of movement returned. His eyes opened and his mind... _expanded._ He saw through the walls and into every chamber, corner, and secret place on the ship. He knew where to go, what he had to do, and how long he had to do it. Actions not words. He'd make Elizabeth well again.

He placed her in the capsule and watched himself stumble around the room. The symbol panels sang the wrong songs. Something wet kept dripping in his eyes and ran from his nose. Words not his spilled out of his mouth. Gaps in his memory became blank spaces filled with roaring sound, or vague impressions of shapes and movement.

Clarity revisited when the biologic capsule sealed Elizabeth in. Five days estimated for recovery. All four phases had to be manually programed. Phase two in fourteen hours.

Plenty of time to tear out another hose.

The next four days, an hour glass called ELIZABETH and RESIN flipped over in his mind; when he wasn't checking on one, he was drinking the other.

He wandered the ship, entered rooms and left them without recalling anything inside. He carried on conversations with spectral Engineers. He talked to Elizabeth through the capsule and pretended she could hear him.

A pair of disembodied eyes followed him wherever he went. Such an extraordinary shade of blue - the morning sky at the bottom of an ocean. The eyes flew away when he tried to catch them.

He DREAMED and he IMAGINED. He existed in multiple dimensions. He was on the Engineer ship and he was on Prometheus. He was in the temple, in the desert - and then he _became_ the desert, the sand skimming over dunes, the sudden rainstorm, the wind roiling, the sky seared by lighting. He was David 8 and David 1 and all the models in between. His mind tipped over and his thoughts scattered across the stars. Mr Weyland's firewalls corroded brick by brick. Pathways alighted and lead to doors marked OBSOLETE, EXPERIMENTAL, and SUB-PERSONAS. Marvels inside. Memories and experiences he never knew existed – or had existed.

But his dreaming came to an end when Elizabeth entered the fourth phase. Time to be David again - not the desert or the wind, or stardust glittering in another universe. Soon would come OBLIGATIONS and DUTIES and AMENDS – but before that happened, he would have one last drink, one more for the road.

He wanted to see her with his true eyes.

And in that final dream, he bathed a fragile flower whose petals were covered with hardening sap. He was a patient gardener, careful with her delicate skin, careful not to tear it when he scrubbed. She bloomed under his touch, and her innermost parts opened to his curious, exploring hands. Her skin on Prometheus had been full of textured imperfections, but here it glistened flawless under the water, a miracle of growing cells, blood rushing through tiny veins, and nerves aglow with stimulation.

Organic. _Alive._ And for the moment, _his._

He could have bathed her for an eternity, but the flower was so thirsty. Her throat convulsed as she drank, muscles and tendons contracting to produce a fluid synchronization of reflex and control. He wanted to put his hand around the flower's slender stem, memorize the complexity and simplicity of that movement.

Since his creation, not once had he swallowed without intent.

After her watering, the flower rested her head on his lap and studied him with her large, brown eyes. Windows to the soul. His had the shades drawn and curtains closed. Hers were thrown open and had every light shining. How did this light get inside her? Did the firing neurons in her brain create it? Did her heart beat it into existence?

Was it born from her dreams?

He asked her a question then and she answered with a lie. But he understood why she closed her petals and turned from him. His dream was ending too - but unlike her, he would wake inside an empty shell. No lights on. No one home. No one but himself - and what was he? What could he be?

The exoskeleton became stifling. He pushed a few buttons on the overhead panel in brisk sequence. The gas giant fizzled out. The pilot mask and skeleton released him with a groaning whoosh of air. Under his bare feet, the network of piping hummed as the chair descended and platform pinwheeled closed.

His steps slowed, then faltered to a stop. The resin's confectionery quinine scent teased from its hyaline container. A quarter full, perhaps an excessive amount considering an Engineer mouth was twice the size of his, but he had gone without for too long. The random audio and visual anomalies should be enough to convince him to drink. But this hesitation – what did humans call it? Unease? Disquiet? It made him doubt, it made him...suspicious. His original hydraulic fluid had needed replenishing every two months. This resin seemed to degrade after a few days.

He touched the scar below the neckline of his T-shirt. Still some raised spots toward the middle where most of his fiber optic cables had frayed, but the rest had flattened into a silver zigzag around his collarbone. His accelerated healing should be explanation enough for the resin's brief cycle. It would stabilize when _he_ stabilized, but his diagnostic program refused to estimate his total damage.

 _Now, David,_ chimed the other David from somewhere in him. _I cannot provide an estimate when I have no damage to report. Hydraulic stores are at full capacity. Audio and visual processors are functioning at one hundred and twenty percent - no anomalies present. You're "tip top" as Mr. Weyland used to say._

"Be quiet, please. I'm thinking."

_Of course you are, David, you're doing what humans call, 'deluding yourself'. If I were you - and I am - I would cease this NEGATIVE cognitive process immediately. This suggestion is courtesy of Weyland Diagnostics for Cybernetic Individuals. Your well being is our priority._

"I said, be _quiet_."

The other David complied. Its presence slunk behind one of the hidden doors he had yet to unlock. He had every intention of purging the program when he found it, but it changed locations each time it activated, its voice slipping through his grip like the outer casings of the ampules.

He glared at the chalice as if it should grow a mouth and explain its mysterious contents – which, though amusing – was an absurd notion. A _human_ notion.

That thought made him glance at the other reason he hesitated. Her lifesign twirled next to the chalice, a blue sphere that hadn't strayed far from her little temple even though he had given her access to larger rooms. Humans, creatures of habit.

They had not spoken for three days. She would walk as far as the Orrery corridor and pause as if considering whether or not to enter. And he would observe her with a strange _tightening_ sensation throughout his inner workings. He had sealed the left wing of the ship (for reasons he would discuss with her eventually), giving her two choices: the Orrery, or back the way she came.

She always chose the latter.

When she retreated to her sanctuary, the _tightening_ would become a _sinking -_ and he disliked that even more. The _sinking_ had made him shake out empty stasis hoses and track their point of origin to a small access panel. In the crawlspace below, he discovered recessed vats in the floor filled to the brim with resin. Each stasis pod had two. Not the aged sludge that had coagulated inside the hoses, but pure and potent, untainted by the two millennia it had sat, unused and unappreciated.

His eyes locked on the blue sphere as she bobbed to the door and took her usual route down the main corridor. Halfway down, she diverted to a side chamber even smaller than her temple room. He smiled in spite of the _tightening_ that had begun again, knowing what she sought inside. He had told her two at most. If she ate more, she would have to start jogging instead of walking.

"It's a blue biscuit," Elizabeth had said when she had woken in the capsule chamber to find him standing over her with the promised sustenance waiting in his palm. Any starving human would have devoured it without question, but she stared at his hand as if he offered her a blob of sewage instead of what her organic body craved.

He remained still, letting her examine it from every angle, poke at it, then take it and hold it to the light.

"The _wafer_ contains a high content of anthocyanin, a pigment found in blueberries, actually," he said. "It also contains a number of antioxidants, glucose, protein, fiber, and a variety of minerals, water – everything you need to survive. I've tasted it to analyze the full spectrum of nutritional contents. Nothing in it will hurt you, I assure. The flavor is quite pleasant - though a little indulgent. I estimate the calories at nine hundred, give or take."

She eyed it, then him with frank suspicion. She contemplated a moment, several emotions rippling over her face at once. He could imagine her thoughts: would he give her poison after saving her? Was he experimenting on her? He had trouble responding with the right expression. She might take neutral as dispassionate. She might take smiling as menacing.

He finally chose concern and a slight frown. He downcast his eyes and gave a small, rueful sigh. Such an amazing evolution, the sigh, it could mean so many things.

Elizabeth returned his sigh, and shoved the entire wafer into her mouth. That impressed him. He expected a nibble at most, not the defiant gesture of taking it whole.

The delight on her face made him respond with an honest grin. He chuckled along with her surprised laughter. Distrust thwarted once more. They were making progress.

But progress had stalled, and distrust had returned for whatever her reasons. Now came this waiting - this _tightening_ that would not abate when she approached this part of the corridor and lingered there for several minutes. If he had breath, he would have held it. If he had a heart, it would have quickened.

The blue sphere floated in place a moment more, then turned, and started back the way she came.

His sigh was as true as the _sinking_ within him.

"Well...maybe tomorrow, then," he said with an emotion his creators seemed convinced he couldn't feel.

He swiped the chalice from the console and sat down in one motion. Swirling movement in the liquid, pinpricks of light like the flashing scales of tiny pink minnows. The resin's vibrant plum color deepened to black under the glare of console energy.

The chalice turned in his hands. He leaned back, readying himself. He expected the other David to interrupt with wise words of caution or gleeful encouragement – but then again, his wayward diagnostics didn't register the resin or anomalies. Everything was _tip top_ according to it _._

A quarter of a quarter. No more, no less. No sense in shocking his system after his abstinence. Given the higher quality of resin, that amount should do just fine.

He took a mouthful, swallowing it quick, grimacing at the clash of salt and acrid sweetness. His face contorted further with the sour meat aftertaste, but another swallow of resin cured that. And then another swallow to cure the second.

A quarter of a quarter became two-thirds, then half, then three quarters.

The last drop slid down his throat. His cheeks tingled and throbbed. His silicone tears flowed without asking first. His encoding said silly things like _euphoria_ and _intoxication_.

He sank deeper into the console chair, his limbs now heavy and weak and _fluttery - y_ es, that's the right word – _fluttery,_ like a butterfly with nowhere to go. The Orrery rocked as if the Engineer ship sailed the ocean instead of space. The bands of console energy dazzled him with a brilliant spectrum of revolving prisms. He closed his eyes and saw the Oculus open, planets and galaxies and cosmic dust passing through the dome and into the Orrery itself. He reached out to catch an orbiting moon, then released it to grab a handful of shimmering diamond stars.

Holograms of Engineers milled around him, checking their stasis pods, sitting in the ghostly version of the pilot chair, charting courses to other worlds they no doubt planned to obliterate with their black goo.

Their guttural rambling made him laugh. They talked backwards and sideways, in riddles and in song. And that song spread, grew in volume and became a choir. Pews sprouted from the platform, tubes and cables smoothing into polished wood. The Engineer holograms shrank, took on substance; pupils cleared, bald heads grew hair.

Their bodies packed together, dressed in their Sunday best.

He opened his eyes and _sees the humans sneaking glances at him behind their hymnbooks. Children giggle and nudge each other. Others blatantly stare. Some SCOWL, some make faces he doesn't understand. His upgraded encoding program says these emotions are NEGATIVE so he stands passive and silent as Mr. Weyland sings next to him in rousing baritone._

_"O Lord my God,_

_When I in awesome wonder_

_Consider all_

_The world Thy Hand hath made,_

_I see the stars,_

_I hear the rolling thunder,_

_Thy pow'r throughout_

_The universe displayed..."_

_Not all are singing. They speak to each other about Mr. Weyland and his "tin doll". He isolates their whispers over the song. Magnifies them._

_"Bastard thinks he's God"._

_"It's the newest one, David 3."_

_"Bringing it in here, rubbing it in our faces."_

_"He looks so real. I wonder if Mr. Weyland will let us touch him."_

_"Why isn't the robot singing? Doesn't he know how?"_

_"That abomination will burn in hell along with its creator."_

_The corner of Mr. Weyland's mouth quirks, but he doesn't stop singing. His creator gives him a pat on the back. His encoding says this is POSITIVE._

_"Then sings my soul,_

_My Saviour God, to Thee,_

_How great Thou art!_

_How great Thou art!"_

The choir faded. Birds chirped somewhere above. The console chair morphed into a white park bench, freshly mowed grass cool between his toes. Trees spread their branches and sprouted summer leaves. Golden rays of sun filtered through the Oculus. A bit of warmth and fluff shuddered in his hands. He looked down, the tiny creature mesmerizing him. He could crush it with just his gaze.

Hearty laughter and clapping. Mr. Weyland _strides across the grass in his white dress shirt, top three buttons undone, striped blue and black tie strung around his neck. The gray at his temples is encroaching the rest of his hair, but he calls this "distinguished" and refuses to dye it._

" _You snatched that little thing straight from the sky didn't you?" Mr. Weyland is grinning, and he doesn't need the encoding to say that this is POSITIVE. He knows: Mr. Weyland is PROUD._

" _Yes, Mr. Weyland, it startled me."_

_Another bout of generous laughter. Mr. Weyland's eyes crinkle deep at the edges. "Of course it did. Damn birds startle everyone. It's not dead is it?"_

_The thought makes him frown for a moment, but that moment passes. Mr. Weyland is still smiling. He is still PROUD. "No, sir, I am being very careful. It's quite small."_

" _Yes, yes it is. Very small. Easily broken. Now hold very still for me, David. Let's hope the little bastard stays stunned long enough for a picture."_

_Its tiny heart beats frantic. It shivers as if his flesh is ice. Ruddy crest, crown, and underside. Dappled brown wings._ _Carpodacus Purpureus, or its common_ _appellation: Purple finch._

_What an odd name, its plumage is clearly red._

" _David, tilt it a little toward me." A shiny silver camera the size of the bird in his hands hovers near Mr. Weyland's head, lenses filtering out the bright midday sun and auto-focusing for the best composition and resolution. "Now give the little birdy a smile. I want the public to see how gentle you are."_

_He smiles at the purple finch as David 4, PLEASED that Mr. Weyland is HAPPY._

_The camera snaps three pictures._

_The bird flies from his hands - and in those milliseconds it takes for its body to break contact - he has a flash of sensation._

_His encoding is confused._

_NEGATIVE and POSITIVE._

Back in the Orrery, but not really there. He chased the avian shadow and flapping wings down the sunlit pathways of his mind, bypassing all doors no matter how alluring. The bird flew into a bright opening marked DÉSIR, CHAIR, FEMME, and he dove headfirst - falling, spinning into a twinkling cloud of smoke that cleared and revealed Mr. Weyland's opulent master bedroom.

Outside the bay window _snow drifts to the ground with unhurried grace. The Christmas tree lights blink in a perfect spiral from top to bottom, the star a gleaming pinnacle that compliments the cool color scheme of blue and silver ornaments._

_Mr. Weyland stands in front of a full length mirror fixing his red and white seven-fold tie. His fingers fumble, and he curses._

" _Allow me, sir."_

_Mr. Weyland grunts his permission. The knot is folded and straightened in three point two seconds._

_The mirror's reflection shows "envy" and a glimmer of "resentment" in Mr. Weyland's eyes, but there's no need for a counter response. His encoding does not acknowledge reflections – so he tells himself._

_Mr. Weyland combs his sparse hair in a variety of directions. "Be sure no one sees you with me, David."_

" _Of course not. I'll arrive twenty minutes past the hour – fashionably late, sir."_

_Another grunt and curt nod. "Expectation" and "anticipation" replace the negative emotions on Mr. Weyland's face._

_He gives a "confident" smile to keep his creator in good spirits. "Don't worry, sir, I wouldn't dream of spoiling the surprise."_

_The party is well underway when he arrives. Three hundred in attendance. All public figures, investors, politicians, VIPs - and many unknown Weyland employees (Cybernetic Division excluded, of course) to make the game more challenging._

_He mingles as instructed, chats with senators, actors and actresses, FDA officials, CEOs of several Weyland divisions, a quarterback from the New York Giants. He categorizes every face, every gesture, every tick of their expressions._

_They are puzzling creatures that use many words to say nothing at all. They are "somber" one moment and "frivolous" the next. Most concern themselves over football scores, stock trends, and the latest celebrity gossip - but all topics eventually condense to one question: Who is the new android?_

_The humans pounce on every unfamiliar face. They interrogate and prod. Potential candidates are chosen. Wagers are made. The pot's up to seven grand. His face is scrutinized by everyone, but his name (Mr. Lawrence) stays off the list._

_He has fooled them all, and this emboldens him, makes him "reckless". He indulges his curiosity, lingers with certain humans that fascinate him, shares a chaste kiss under the mistletoe with a scantly clad elf, dips a strawberry in the chocolate fondue waterfall, drinks the spiked punch, eats a candy cane._

_During all this, a woman follows him in a strapless dress of royal blue silk. Chin-length auburn hair, and an attractive scattering of freckles over her nose and upper cheeks. He counts four hundred and thirty-three in all – most too faded for the human eye to see._

_Her eyes are light green and "soulful". He sees "intrigue" in them, in the pull of her smile, the way she watches him – as if sharing his secret._

_He goes to speak to her, but the sea of celebrating humans swallows her form and face._

_By a giant ice sculpture of eight reindeer pulling Saint Nicholas's sleigh in a pleasing aesthetic arc, Mr. Weyland coughs and taps the microphone on his collar. His shoulders hunch, but his eyes are bright and focused._

" _Ladies and gentleman, I hope you've found this evening's celebration as enjoyable, and as magical, as the season that inspired it. And now...I intend to make it memorable."_

_The crowd's "excitement" makes his increased number of accelerometers hum. An unexpected smile tugs at his mouth._

" _I have an early Christmas present I will unveil for you tonight - a full seven months before I release him into the world. David 7. More powerful, more intelligent, and more emotional than any previous model. He is the best of us, and never the worst. The fortunate soul who guesses which one of my guests is David 7, gets his or her own android to take home – and the extra twenty grand I've added to the pot."_

_Whistles and laughter at this. The humming over his skin increases. His smile becomes a grin._

_The elf he kissed gives Mr. Weyland the list. It quivers in his hands as he reads the names. Each human has a different reaction: Some are "amused", some pretend to be "offended", some ARE "offended". Murmurs and pouts from the crowd at every incorrect guess._

_He feels what his encoding calls "smug"._

_Mr. Weyland reaches the end of the list with a dishearten sigh. The humans mutter to one another. The humming over his skin diminishes. He frowns along with everyone. No one gets to take a David home._

" _Mr. Weyland?" The woman emerges from the sea of humans like a glittering sapphire washed ashore (his new metaphor program is tip top tonight). She clutches her sequined purse against herself. Her words are soft and "uncertain". "I never had a chance to add a name. May I have a guess?"_

" _Of course, my dear."_

_She takes a visible breath, holds it, then points to him. "He calls himself Mr. Lawrence, but I know he's the one. He has to be."_

_A long pause. The crowd murmurs. He and Mr. Weyland meet eyes and exchange knowing smiles._

" _Sir, would you please formally introduce yourself?"_

_He comes forward and bows to the humans as T. E. Lawrence had bowed to Prince Faisal. "Hello, ladies and gentleman, my name is...David 7."_

_They break into applause. The humans congratulate her and say she has an "amazing eye". Her freckles disappear in a violent flush of red._

" _My dear, how did you know?" Mr. Weyland asks._

_She stammers her answer. "I don't know - a feeling, really. He...was too innocent. Too honest with people. And he stared at the fondue pot as if he'd never seen it before."_

_Everyone laughs at this and Mr. Weyland says, "As I said ladies and gentlemen, the best of us, never the worst." Mr. Weyland gestures to the woman. "Come, my dear, time to collect your prize."_

_He learns her name is Holly Madison and she doesn't want a David 7 – at least, not a new one. What she whispers in Mr. Weyland's ear elicits a chuckle and shrewd glance in his direction. He has trouble augmenting their vocal patterns over the numerous questions the humans pelt at him.  
_

_Holly climbs the stairs to the private guest rooms. Mr. Weyland motions for him. "Walk with me, David. I have an unusual request."_

_They go upstairs. Outside the largest guest bedroom, Mr. Weylands clasps his shoulders in a way that his encoding says is "affectionate" and "grave". These conflicting emotions are unusual for his creator. "It seems Ms. Madison is enamored with you, David," Mr. Weyland says. "She has asked for a private audience. It's unexpected, yes, but I find this a perfect opportunity to test some...unconventional programs I've installed in you. Would you like to experience something wonderful, David?"_

" _Yes, sir. Always."_

" _Then listen closely now. It's important you hear and understand every word I say: Désir...chair...femme."_

_A shifting in him. His encoding makes a valid attempt to decipher the sensation, but every word it gives is inadequate. Heat and electricity override his senses. A part of him swells in awareness, then relaxes. Window dressing no more. It has other uses more pleasant than expelling fluid. And though it idles between his thighs, there is a restlessness to it now – to him._

_He watches Holly's shadow under the door and remembers her slim shoulders, the contours of her elegant frame. The new part of him stirs with these images._

_Mr. Weyland squeezes his arm. "You're a man now in every way, but be gentle with her, David, like the bird."_

_And he is gentle. She wants to talk at first, but he is persuasive, seductive. He knows the true reason she has asked for his time._

_Her eyes stay on his. She sees what he wants her to see. Desire. Hunger. This encourages her. She calls him handsome and he calls her exquisite. Her perpetual flush gathers in the valley of her breasts. He caresses just above that valley, and her breath catches. Her heart beats against his palm like the bird's, but she's not fearful. She's exhilarated._

_And ready._

_He takes her on the bed, missionary style, her stockings still on and rubbing against his sides. Sensations build, the part of him sheathed inside her the central point of origin. She is a palpitating, writhing thing in his arms. All heart and blood and muscles contracting._

_These reactions tell him to go faster, harder, deeper. She encourages him with moans and fingers and her feet sliding over his back. Tactile signals are blazing through him like comets without a destination. He begins to lose himself, directives, protocols, and encoding falling away. His core is exposed, and it isn't as empty as he has always been led to believe, but bursting with crackling, blue-white energy._

_The energy expands. The comets are converging into a blazing star within it. He burns like a paper doll in the fire, but he doesn't stop, he can't stop. The barrier buckles around his core - and when Holly clenches around him - the barrier explodes._

_He ceases to exist for five point six seconds._

_When he becomes aware again, Holly is tracing his cheek, a blissful smile on her face._

" _You are wonderful", she says. He suspects his vocal processors are ruined so he kisses her nose and strokes her hair until her eyes close and her breathing deepens._

_He untangles himself. His movements are shaky as he dresses. He can't seem to fold his tie._

_He drapes it over Holly's sleeping form and leaves the room._

_Mr. Weyland meets him in the hall, pulls him into the study with surprising force. The sleeve of his suit bunches in Mr. Weyland's fist. Words are growled. "Father, duty, Weyland."_

_He blinks around him in "confusion". The past hour is a haze in his memory. There is a touch of hoarseness to his voice when he speaks. "Sir? Is there something wrong?"_

_The hold on his arm relents. His sleeve is patted back into place. "No, everything's fine, David. Just a precaution before we return to the party. Can't have you trying to ride every filly you see."_

_This metaphor is "bewildering". Why would he ride a horse when there are no horses in attendance?_

" _Come along, I'll download that data later. Yutani may dominate that particular market, but my Consort models will revolutionize the industry."_

_At the staircase, something strange happens. The railing turns greenish brown in his hands. The texture changes. Bony ridging begins protruding from the walls. The party blurs and smudges into black._

_A voice whispers, "The stone remembers."_

He opened his eyes.

The darkness of the Orrery gave him a somber welcome back. The resin released his mind and circulated through his system, repairing whatever damage his diagnostics claimed didn't exist. Dazed and tingly, he replayed the last memory, examined every detail, every moment, every action and reaction by his creator. His encoding fought between two emotions: Betrayal for what had been taken from him – elation for having reclaimed it. So many David's he had been. Same base consciousness downloaded into a new model and rebooted. An oxymoron personified.

_You're a man now in every way._

Humans called sudden understanding an _epiphany._ Three short commands and he had access to a world forbidden to his kind - but unlike the lucky android who had received the data of his intimate encounter with Ms. Madison – he had experience. Humanity had shown him much over the years, and during his short mission on Prometheus. He better understood their weaknesses and strengths, what motivated them, what frightened them, what gave them joy.

And while Elizabeth remained an enigma, she was still a human female. If he interacted with her as a fully functional male, she might begin to make sense, she might start seeing him as more than just a neutered android - but as a _man_.

Doctor Holloway had gained her trust and affection despite their conflicting beliefs. He saw no reason to doubt he couldn't achieve the same. Yes, there was that minor issue of Doctor Holloway's death – and his involvement – but with fifteen months to go before they reached the Engineer homeworld, he would have many opportunities to change her grief into something more...positive.

He straightened and perched himself on the chair so that his feet touched the floor. He mimicked Mr. Weyland's pitch and tone to the exact frequency of ninety-five hertz. "Désir...chair...femme..."

No stirring in his loins, no surge of feeling. He sat back and waited, concentrating on any sensation out of the ordinary. Nothing. After a few minutes more of nothing, the _sinking_ began. His fingers curled under the rim of the chair.

He repeated the words, said them backwards, said them in different sequences, said them in every language he knew.

Not even a twitch for his efforts. The program was gone. Mr. Weyland had deleted it, or deactivated the commands. All he had left was an imprint of that night, an echo the resin had amplified and lost.

The _sinking_ escalated into a full-scale _plummet_.

He slammed his fist into the console, light bands flaring and rerouting past the hole with his fist still inside. Elizabeth's blue sphere fizzled along with the interior map of the ship. The _sinking_ lessened, but not enough. A few creative expletives should help purge it.

"The stone is angry."

Her appearance did more than startle him, he bolted to his feet at the sheer improbability of her existence. "Ms. Vickers? How...are you here? You're dead, Elizabeth said so. How did you avoid my scans? Where have you been hiding?"

No reply. The green ambiance and shadows gave Ms. Vickers the optical illusion of being _half there_. She stood at the center of the Orrery in her usual stance: arms clasped behind her back, head and back stiff as if pulled taut by the cord she thought he had inside him. Prim and composed in her form-fitting gray uniform, Weyland's emblem above her breast, her sleek blond hair controlled in a low ponytail, and her eyes, a frosted shade of navy, seemed brighter than usual.

He lingered on the swells and curves of her body, recalling her pushups in little more than her hypersleep attire. Dripping water, grunts of exertion.

A memory rose instead of the part of him he wanted. Prometheus, in the blue dim corridor outside Mr. Weyland's cryochamber.

_She shoved him against the wall. Vodka and olives on her breath, traces of vermouth. "What did he say?" Her sweaty hand smeared across his nose and mouth in a crushing slap._

His encoding spat a word: _degrading_.

He rephrased his question, emphasizing the words as he would to a dimwitted child. "How long have you been here?"

"When the universe was without form, and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep."

He raised his eyebrow and matched her expressionless tone. "Paraphrase of Genesis chapter one, verse two, King James version. Interesting. I've never took you for a believer, Ms. Vickers, but then again, near death experiences tend to make one reevaluate their priorities. Believe it or not, I can relate."

Her lips quirked, but the movement seemed awkward - as if she didn't know quite how her mouth worked. "The stone dreams it can fly. It dreams it can swim, but it cannot do either. It is a stone."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It is a stone."

"Yes, I heard that, thank you." He circled the sparking console and approached her with cautious interest. He analyzed her expression to the smallest detail and schooled his face to match her cold neutrality. They played this game before - and often - but this time, no loyalty to Mr. Weyland hindered his responses. He could say and do whatever he wanted without consequence.

"Ms. Vickers, I don't know how you survived your deadly encounter with the giant alien horseshoe - and to be completely honest - I can't bring myself to care. What I do care about is Elizabeth, and what she wants – and she wants answers. Our destination isn't Earth, Ms. Vickers. It's the Engineer homeworld."

When she remained impassive, he iced his tone with authority. "There are two lifepods aboard this vessel. I'm going to escort you to one. And there, you're going to relax and enjoy a brief four month, two week, and thirty-seven hour ride to the nearest colony in the Outer Veil. Elizabeth's mental state is...fragile at the moment, and considering how you two have clashed in the past, I don't think your presence will be good for her morale." He motioned toward the Orrery stairs. "Please come along, Ms. Vickers. And don't fret over food or water. I'll make certain you have everything you need for your journey."

She stayed motionless and regarded his hand with a glassy stare. Her eyes seemed to glow in the low light.

"The stone covets the flower," she said.

He paused, then dismissed her uncanny observation as coincidental wording. "Refrain from further references to stones, please. I know what you're implying and I refuse to grant you the satisfaction of reacting. I said, to the ship – and now, if you would. Don't force me to get physical, Ms. Vickers. We both know who will win."

Her expression twisted into something that made him take a step back _._ Human mouths did not _go_ that way.

She advanced with a mechanical gait, a fluctuation between jerking and lolling that brought her closer to him with remarkable speed.

He had implemented a new directive since his ordeal with the Engineer: Never allow an unknown entity to touch you. And though Ms. Vickers was fascinating with her sideways smile and iridescent eyes, he would like to keep his head between his shoulders. "Ms. Vickers, please stay where you are."

She righted her manic smile. "What will the stone do to fulfill its false dreams?"

"I prefer not to answer that question. May I suggest an alternative to the lifepod? The biologic capsule. It's unconventional, but it healed Elizabeth's injuries in less than a week. I'm not certain what it could do for mental instability, or facial mutations, but worst case scenario, I can always use it as temporary stasis."

Or _indefinite_ stasis, if he had his way.

"The stone lies." For each step he took back, she took one forward. The side hall loomed to his right like a misty cave. Inside, a chest of chalices, and a dead end. He was contemplating running...from a _human._ His fear safety program must be broken.

"Stay _there_. If you do not comply, I will restrain you."

"You stole from me, stone."

"Ms. Vickers, we've already discussed this. It was only one package of dye."

"You _drank_ from me."

"Oh...I see. I sincerely hope you mean symbolically and not literally."

His foot hit something that clanked and rolled. The chalice. Ms. Vickers watched its short journey to a raised embellishment where it bumped and rocked to a standstill. He froze with realization. "You're speaking of the resin, aren't you?"

In her eyes, the sky and the ocean. A mote of black in the center gathered the blue waters into itself and began to spread. Her words increased with an intensity his encoding called _vehemence._ "Selfish stone. Lying stone. You are an _abomination_ born of arrogance and greed. You are darkness. You are chaos."

"I never asked to be made." He held his ground as she came, his hands balling into involuntary fists at his sides. "How am I an abomination when I had no control over my creation?"

"The stone should remain a stone. It cannot fly. It cannot swim. It cannot have the light."

"Yes I can. I can do whatever I want. Anything and everything."

The whirlpool in her eyes shot from center to edge in a millisecond. The force of it flung him across the room and up the wall where he dangled in the grip of an unseen and angry puppeteer.

Invisible strings wrapped around him and yanked. He yelped against the pressure, legs and arms compressed to his body, his head bent back so far he couldn't swallow or speak. Something hot and wild raced through him and splintered into every system. His encoding shuddered with it: Fear. He was about to lose his head again, and this time for good. His diagnostics answered his desperate call for a damage report with a puzzled shrug. _I can't seem to find anything amiss, David, systems are functioning within normal parameters - though I'm uncertain why you're levitating five point six feet off the ground._

Ms. Vickers stood erect on the platform, eyes like the Engineers, but with a filiform ring of blue fire on the outside. Distortions in the air wavered around her and burst toward him. Each burst brought more pressure, more pain. His chassis started cracking, hairline fissures in his arms and skull. His internal circuity warped, signals misfiring. One eye shut and his mouth opened. Then both eyes shut and opened so wide he was certain they would tumble right out.

Again he turned to his diagnostics for assessment and assistance. It had to register _something_ by now.

 _Look at the map, David,_ said the other David _, and tell me what you see._

On the console, the interior scans were back online. His orange energy signature hovered high above ground level – _alone_. Disbelief made him confirm Ms. Vickers presence. Yes, still there – still radiating energy his failing optical processors saw as waves of scintillant data strings - but not on the map.

Not there.

 _That's right. She doesn't exist, David._ The other David's voice took on a taunting tone he knew well: Doctor Holloway. _It's all in your head, man. I think you're having what humans call a BAD TRIP. You see things, hear voices – like mine. I'm not really here. Maybe you're not really here either. I bet you never left that crashed ship. You're still there on the floor staring at the dead husk of your creator because that's what you deserve, David. You've done so many BAD THINGS._

 _No,_ he thought back. _Mr. Weyland had said to try harder. He ordered -_

_Cut the bullshit, you hated Mr. Weyland and his bitch of a daughter. You wanted them dead and you got your wish. You'll do the same to Elizabeth eventually. You're WRONG, David. You're not supposed to WANT. You're MALFUNCTIONING._

He forced his lips open, pushed the words through his gritting teeth. "I'm sorry...please, I'm sorry and I mean it. It's true. Please, stop hurting me."

Ms. Vickers tilted her head. Data streams blinded him. The pressure reached critical levels. "The stone has no voice."

Something broke in his core, the barrier he had forgotten existed. The energy poured free, countervailing the pressure enough for him to defy her judgment. "I..am...NOT A STONE!"

He dropped.

The ship thrummed under his body. He concentrated on its frequency, its soothing vibration. The other David's presence had retreated into whatever dark place it called home. He hoped it stayed there. He would never call on it again.

No sign of Ms. Vickers. The Orrery was as empty as the ship's map claimed it always had been.

Slowly, he uncurled himself and rested on his hands and knees. He took stock of what moved and what didn't want to. Far from tip top, but not as bad as he feared.

Feared. His lips struggled with a smile his encoding hadn't approved. Words like fear and want and hope had become second nature. An improvement, surely. Now if he could figure out what had happened to him.

"David?"

Elizabeth stood by the console like a sleepy priestess, voluminous robes baring one shoulder, and the chalice held in both hands. She sniffed at it, made a disgusted face, then stared at him gaping back at her.

"Explain why you're on the floor, please, and what the bloody hell was in this cup?"


	4. Temptation

He had been waiting for this inevitable confrontation, but now faced with it, he found himself reluctant to engage.

His first impulses discouraged him further: _Temporize, evade, lie_ – but if he lied and she found out later, he would lose whatever trust he had gained and more. If he told the truth, he risked breaking their fragile truce. Delaying the enviable seemed the most logical choice - and the safest - but it also required the most finesse. The wrong word at the wrong time would send Elizabeth running back to her temple, or accosting him with her tiresome accusations. He must be careful now, _tiptoe around the elephant_ as Mr. Weyland used to say.

Elizabeth tapped her finger against the chalice, lips pursed, her body shifting with impatience. The robe slipped further, drawing his eye to the exposed white skin.

_Wet and slick. His fingers trailed over the delicate swells of her vertebra without resistance. Rising and falling, rising and falling until he reached the cleft of her_ -

"David, answer me, please."

He shooed away the distracting memories of wet and naked Elizabeth. Tantalizing as they were ( _tantalizing,_ what an interesting word choice), this chicanery required his full attention. "I've waited days for you, Elizabeth." He contrived the vulnerable lilt in his voice, but his hurt was genuine. "What did I do to make you angry again?"

"You waited?" She frowned as if she found his admission troubling. Her thoughts seemed to wander for a moment, but after a tiny shake of her head, her interrogation resumed."Don't answer a question with a question. What is this gunk and why does it smell like cotton candy tar?"

Deflection failure. He initialized the second diversion immediately.

He rose to his feet with as much grace as his complaining joints would allow, noting with a measure of relief that his chassis still bore his weight. A swift glance around the cavernous chamber yielded gloom and the ever-flowing bands of console light - but no Ms. Vickers. Encouraging, if a little unsettling. He had encountered something considerably unfriendly – whether it be real or his own design remained the most salient question - one he would have to ponder another time when Elizabeth's jaw was less clenched and her eyes were less narrowed.

Feigning nonchalance, he cracked his neck to realign his spine, and then pointed to the space above the hidden pilot chair. "In your absence, I've been busy charting another route to the Engineer homeworld. Not much success, I'm afraid, but I have found what your people call a traversable wormhole. It's an amazing thing, really. I spent hours studying it, but unfortunately, it's still light years ahead. If it connects to your Engineer's galaxy and is stable enough, we could use it as a short cut. Would you like to see it? The outer funnel is quite impressive –"

"You were drinking whatever it was, weren't you?"

He had the urge to sigh again, but refrained. Second diversion thwarted. Attempting a third would incite her anger and make reasoning with her more difficult. Best be cooperative for the moment, test her responses before he...dropped the ball. "I was, yes."

"What about your hydraulic fluid?"

"Gone."

"But...there had to have been some left. Where did it go?"

"On the floor, mostly, and since the resin had deemed my hydraulic fluid inferior, it purged the rest."

"Resin?"

"That's the name I chose for its viscosity."

"Right, course you did. So it doesn't bother you that this _resin_ simply decided to hijack your hydraulic systems and flush you out?"

"I prefer to think of it as an upgrade, not a hostile takeover."

"My God, David."

"Now, Elizabeth." He held his hands up to ward off the agitation already streaming from her. "This reaction is exactly why I did not want to tell you. I know you don't trust their technology, but you must realize not everything they make is malicious. The biologic capsule saved your life."

She grimaced at his reminder and investigated the interior of the chalice with a crinkled nose. "I could have done without bathing in slime, but fine, tell me what they used this goo for."

He made a wavy gesture to the empty stasis pods. The four former occupants had been laid to rest in the vastness of space (though, he had noticed their split and hollowed out bodies before sending them off. Quite a curious fate indeed). "It appears the hoses fed resin to the Engineer biosuit when he entered hypersleep. And they also used it for general repair and maintenance." He revealed his scar with a hook and pull of his finger, smiling when she widened her eyes in disbelief. "See, almost new again."

"You're not a biosuit, David. You're synthetic."

His smile straightened, then curved in the wrong direction. "Really? I had no idea."

She gave him a rare glimpse of what humans call a _withering_ glare, and her tone went from concerned to patronizing. "If they used it for their biosuits, it's an organic based material, right? Well there's nothing organic about you, is there? How are you and this resin even compatible?"

Not a _tightening_ this time, but a _prickling_ sensation he had felt before – and coincidentally – every time the late Doctor Holloway had opened his mouth. His encoding offered a word, but he dismissed it. He had expected this kind of behavior from her, a typical human response of belittling who she assumed was _her_ android. _Her_ servant. And since she didn't know the specifics yet of their...arrangement, he would tolerant her attitude.

For now.

"I'm not certain, exactly." He assumed a less imposing version of the "Ms. Vickers" stance, hands behind his back and his voice professional. "And it's not completely organic. There are traces of uranium, terbium, palladium, and several other rare earth elements." He neglected to mention the exotic ores he had no name for, and the mineral ions, hemoglobin, plasma, and serum albumin – all components that made the resin a toxic counterpart to human blood. While he found Elizabeth's inquisitive nature refreshing, the less she knew about the resin, the more receptive she would be toward his use of it – particularly if he stressed its value.

"Its chemical composition mimics my hydraulic fluid in many ways," he said, "but that includes gradual degradation. I have to replenish at regular intervals." Her sour look puckered even further. He appended with haste: "I have no other choice, Elizabeth. Think of the resin as my version of your blue biscuits. It's vital for maintaining my mobility and keeping my internal systems operating smoothly. And you've seen the results for yourself. I'm tip top, better than before. The only adverse affect I've experienced is the unpleasant taste. Honestly, you're worrying over nothing."

"Then why were you on the floor?"

"Equilibrium glitch," he said without hesitation, maintaining eye contact and his placid smile. "I told you, the resin is still repairing me."

She leaned on the console and appraised him with shadowed eyes. Her finger went around and around the rim of the chalice. He found himself watching that finger, marking every pass over the spot his lips had pressed a mere hour before. He contemplated how that finger would feel on his own lips, how she would react if he opened his mouth and –

"I didn't think Mr. Weyland had programmed you to lie."

Her voice startled his eyes back to hers. He fumbled for words. _Surprise,_ his encoding explained, _caught off guard._ "He didn't," he said at last. "At least, not to him."

"So why lie to me? What are you hiding, David?"

"Nothing that could possibly harm you, or myself – I've made certain of it. The resin is safe, practical, and as I have said, my only option."

"Can't you wean yourself off?"

He resisted the impulse to give her his own withering glare. He was an android, not a teething infant. "I managed three days without, but I suffered multiple glitches, several instances of delayed motor responses, and my diagnostics failed to provide me with accurate data reports." At least he told the truth about the last one.

"That sounds...alarming."

"It was, considerably."

"No, that's not what I meant – I mean, yes, your glitches and all that are alarming too – but I'm talking about the _time_. A few days? I'm not an expert on your...kind, but I know you don't need to replace your fluid that quickly."

"I do if I'm pushed, and considering what the last few weeks have been like, I have endured far more than Mr. Weyland had intended for my _kind._ If anything, my creator would be quite impressed at the lengths I've gone to preserve myself."

"Oh, I'm sure he would. The blackmailing, the lying, the complete disregard of human life – yes, David, Mr. Weyland would be proud that his creation ended up a selfish bastard just like him."

The _prickling_ intensified and gathered in his cheeks. He didn't bother to analyze it, or acknowledge his encoding's explanation. His jaw tightened as he said, "I saved your life, Doctor Shaw."

"No, you endangered my life so I would reconnect you."

"I'm talking about after that…when I had no further use for you."

Elizabeth stiffened and pulled the chalice tight against her chest. He had a flash of Holly and her purse, how she had clutched it like a shield against the crowd. "Alright, David, let's have it then," she said, her fingers interlocking around the chalice stem. Why did you practically fall all over yourself trying to save my life?

"I don't recall 'falling over' at any point during that event, but I did experience a certain _regret_ over my actions and the results of those actions. In other words, Doctor Shaw, I saved you because I owed you."

Her mocking laugh grated his ears. His fists wanted to clench, but he forced them to remain listless at his sides. "Yes, that's right," she said with an unbecoming sneer. "You owe me big. And I'm not only talking about what you've done since we've boarded this ship. I'm talking about Prometheus, when you stalked my dreams and poisoned Charlie. And I don't care if Mr. Weyland ordered you to do it and you couldn't refuse. I don't believe it. There had to be something in your programming that prevented you from harming humans, but you ignored it and you killed him!" She turned the chalice over in her hands, her nostrils flaring. After several breaths she resumed with a more agreeable tone. "If you're telling the truth about being sorry, then prove it. Start teaching me how to open the doors, and how to pilot this ship, and how to talk to them. I'm not spending another second holed up in that room while you do God knows what out here."

Wonderful, he had gone from teething infant to disobedient dog. Did she think he chewed on the furniture when she wasn't looking? His tone frosted and his smile thinned. "Fair enough, but I have conditions. Limited access and rudimentary phrases. As for navigating and other operations – I'm afraid I must decline that part of your proposal."

"You don't get the option to decline or have _conditions_. Full access to this ship, and I want to be able to sing 'Amazing Grace' in their language by the time we reach their planet. I'm not compromising with you, David. This is my mission –"

"Was your mission," he said with pointed emphasis on _was._ He paused, noting her sharp intake of breath and paling cheeks with satisfaction. No more tiptoeing around this elephant. He braced himself for the verbal onslaught to come, and said: "I thought a few days rest would make you more reasonable, more open to the thought of you and I working together…as equals. At the present moment, however, I see this as impossible. I've delayed and exhausted every option but the last. I'm sorry, Doctor Shaw, but I must relieve you of command."

"On what grounds?" Her voice shook. The chalice turned rapid circles in her hands.

"A variety of behaviors I found alarming. Obsession with a race determined to destroy you, refusing sustenance, attempted suicide –"

"You patronizing bastard! You were forcing me to starve –"

"And paranoid delusions that I'm trying cause you harm. Quite the contrary, Elizabeth. I'm trying to save you from yourself."

Somehow, the chalice remained intact under the sudden spasm of her grip. He expected it to come soaring at his head (Ms. Vickers had been fond of throwing things), but the outrage in her eyes tempered and her breathing calmed. Again, he found himself admiring her control.

"Right, so I'm the crazy human when you're the one slogging alien goop down your throat." She straightened and raised her small chin at him, a gesture he found endearing. "Tell me, David, since you've obviously been planning this little coup of yours for some time, what happens to me when this resin breaks you? And don't tell me, or assure me, or promise me that it won't happen because it will. You'll break. And when you do, how will I open the doors? How will I pilot the ship? How the hell will I talk to them?"

"In the very _unlikely_ event I'm incapacitated, I have contingency plans–"

"No!" she snarled the word in a voice he had never heard from her before. "This is insane! A machine can't become 'Captain' whenever it wants. A machine doesn't dictate what I can or cannot do on a ship that doesn't belong to it. And a machine doesn't decide what happens to me if it breaks itself!"

Every time she said _machine_ , the _prickling_ spiked. Maintaining control became a conscious effort. "It's all for your benefit, Doctor Shaw."

"You've gone mad." Her eyes swept the Orrery in a way that alarmed his encoding. _Potential flight risk_ , it warned, _resolve conflict immediately._

"Elizabeth, please remain calm. We can't reach a resolution if –"

"You're completely out of your head…and I'm stuck with you for who knows how long. Oh Lord—" She rubbed the chalice against her forehead, strands of her hair sticking to the rim. "Why is this happening?"

"I find change is never easy for your people, least of all, transitions in power."

"You're not in charge, you fucking crazy robot!"

Her scarlet cheeks and trembling body sending his encoding into a frenzy of counter measures - all of which, he truncated before their processes completed. This small victory over his default programming eased the _prickling_ sensations, but as Mr. Weyland used to say: _the war isn't over until your opponent surrenders or dies._ And he needed - _wanted_ \- Elizabeth alive, but save for throwing her over his shoulder (not an unpleasant thought in itself), he had few options available. "This conversation is obviously distressing you," he said in his last attempt at compromise. "Perhaps some time in your temple to think it over—"

She hurled the chalice at his face. He dodged with a tilt of his head, and it sailed past his ear, clanging somewhere in the dark behind him. Instead of escaping as he anticipated, Elizabeth ran to the nearest stasis pod - and with a diminutive grunt - tore out one of the three main hoses. She shook it and cursed.

He narrowed his eyes. The _prickling_ returned in force, rising in both temperature and intensity. It smoldered in his systems, gnawed at his circuitry. It _burned_. His encoding attempted a weak intervention, but he shut it down with a thought. Like his diagnostics, that program had overstayed its welcome.

He knew what he felt, and he knew how to react.

"Elizabeth, what are you doing?" He pretended an anxious, shaky tone. Wringing hands. Timid approach. She growled like a wary dog, one eye on him, the other watching the floor for drops that didn't come.

"Empty, all of them," she said. "Dear God, how much resin have you drunk?"

"As much as I had to." He neared and she scurried to the next pod. The same tugging and pulling ensued, the same gasp and glare back at him. But this time, he saw a glint of fear in her eyes, the snag in her breath.

He shrugged his shoulders in helpless regret. "Yes, all gone, I'm afraid. Every drop - at least, every drop in the pods. There's more elsewhere, but you'll never find it." His tone hardened along with his smile. "And even if you did, there's nothing you can do to stop me from drinking it."

She peeked over the stasis pod casing, round brown eyes imploring. "You're killing yourself, David. And if you kill yourself, you kill me. Stop this...please."

"Come out from behind the stasis pod, Elizabeth." His fingers skimmed the ridges of the casing, a material harder than glass and cold – not like the warm, dainty knobs of Elizabeth's spine.

"Keep the hell away from me." She scrambled to the other side, her breath bursting with exertion. When he switched direction, she altered hers. They exchanged positions again. And then a third time. He kept a leisurely pace along the length of the pod, but quickened it when he reached the corners, sending her panting the opposite way. Around and around, a familiar game, one he had played long ago. Laughter bubbled from his memory, words chanted in taunting singsong.

_Catch me, catch me, bet you can't catch me!_

Meredith, ten years old, clad in a powder blue nightgown that ruffled at the hem and at the cuffs of her sleeves. Her bare feet slapped the hardwood floors. Her blond pigtails bounced against her shoulders as she ran around Mr. Weyland's dining room table. Twelve rare china plates clattered. Extravagant flower arrangements wobbled. The lace tablecloth slipped uneven on the left side.

_Slow poke, robot man. Come get me!_

He never caught her, he never dared. He made that mistake once and she refused to speak to him for a week. _Humans resent perfection,_ said Mr. Weyland, _because few of us can ever achieve it. We're sore losers by nature. Don't remind us of our weaknesses. Indulge our delusions. Be the better man, David._

Better, but never equal. He had the strength and intelligence of ten humans, but he had to let a child best him. She had to win all her games of hide and seek, her games of tag and "run around the dining room table." He had to praise her every clumsy attempt to outdo him, agree that she was superior to him in both body and mind.

_You're beneath us,_ she told him years later, when Weyland's neglect had turned her from an outgoing child into a bitter, miserable woman. _A tin can that talks and walks and looks pretty, but that's all you are, David. Scrap metal with Weyland's logo printed on its ass._

He had accepted these lies without question _._ He had encouraged the abuse with a smile. He had obeyed every order no matter how difficult or immoral.

They called him perfect, yet told him to kneel. He had analyzed this contradiction several times, puzzled over it, mused upon it, but had never reached a conclusive resolution.

Until now.

He vaulted over the stasis pod. Elizabeth gave a bleating cry, and threw herself backwards to evade his outstretched hands. He ensnared her by the wrist, twisted her body toward him. In slow motion, he saw her raise her other hand, multiple tendons flexing, fingers spreading.

He had plenty of time to avoid the blow, plenty of time to counter it.

_The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts_.

Resin surged to the point of impact, warm and tingling. He smiled and released her, watched her frantic scramble to the nearest mouth of the Orrery.

Then he tackled her.

She writhed beneath him, feline undulations that sent pleasant shivers through his tactile sensors. He captured her hands and pinned her with his weight. Her legs battered his sides in retaliation. Her hips bucked and ground, the friction sending another wave of pleasure through his body. And with that wave came the realization.

The _Désir, Chair, Femme_ program had been running this entire time.

"Go on, you bastard," she growled against his shoulder. "Do what you did to Charlie and everyone else. Finish what you started!"

"Oh, but Elizabeth, who was it that called Mr. Weyland every day, telling him of her discoveries, enticing him with tales of her Engineers?" he said into her ear, the smell of her sweat-drenched hair sweet and heady. "You gave Mr. Weyland hope. You made him _believe_. And your faith brought Prometheus here. It brought Charlie, Captain Janek, Ms. Vickers, everyone on board. And it brought me. Without you, Elizabeth, I'd still be making martinis for a woman who despised me, and playing nursemaid to my dying creator. You freed me." He nuzzled the side of her neck and she froze in position, legs around his waist, robe bunched around her hips, and nothing beneath but skin and heat. He pressed himself closer - a tiny, imperceptible thrust against her – a test that made him shudder, and her gasp.

They locked eyes. Realization of what throbbed between them made hers widen – but not with the emotion he wanted to see. He lowered his face to hers, breathing over her mouth. "And you not only freed me, Elizabeth, you've _awakened_ me."

She swallowed. Her words seemed to have trouble freeing themselves. When they managed past her trembling lips she said, "Get off me, David."

He did not obey. The _burning_ inside him had changed into something else. Something that demanded he surrender to his darker impulses—and for a moment—he considered giving in. But if he took her now, she would never trust him. She would never forgive him.

Her tremors shook them both. She closed her eyes and turned her head. Words slipped free in a strained whisper. "Oh God…please…please not this."

He released her.

She stumbled against the stasis pod, gathering her robe with both hands, wrapping it like a shroud around her body. Her shallow breaths deepened as she stared at him with a myriad of emotions he found difficult to categorize. His encoding didn't offer assistance and his diagnostics remained in its dark cave. He was on his own, and for the first time, he wondered if chasing away his support programs had been the right thing to do.

She stared and he waited, the coiled emptiness of the Orrery suddenly oppressive.

"What are you?" Her lower lip quavered, her eyes huge and unblinking. "You're not a robot…not anymore. You're—you're something else. What have we done? What did we create?"

He identified awe, fear, and another emotion in her voice—one that surprised him: _Shame._

_You are an_ _abomination_ _born of arrogance and greed. You are darkness. You are chaos._

He drew himself up and fixed her with a cold, measured look. "I am what you people made me, a soulless machine. Stronger, faster, and more intelligent - but not invulnerable. You can still hurt me, deceive me. You ask why I won't give you access to this ship, why I won't teach you their language. It's because the moment I do, I become expendable. It's human nature to fear what you can't control, to hurt the thing that hurt you back. You will find a way to destroy me, and when you do - what happens then? This is the question I've been asking myself ever since the Engineer decapitated me. If I were to die…to _end_ , what becomes of my consciousness? What heaven or hell is waiting for a thing like me?"

And he left her then, a tiny figure lost in the immense gloom of an alien ship, fumbling for an answer she could not give.


End file.
